


Soapy Water

by MarieQuiteContrarie (SeaStar1330)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Rumbelle - Fandom
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, A Monthly Rumbelling June 2018, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Flirting, Domestic Fluff, Dorks, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Love Morons, Misunderstandings, Outdoor Sex, Rumbelle - Freeform, Smut, The Dark Castle (Once Upon a Time), Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-01-16 20:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaStar1330/pseuds/MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: Concerned that Belle is bored with living in the Dark Castle, Rumplestiltskin chooses an activity she doesn’t seem to mind—laundry. But how many dirty clothes can the Dark One make?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rumpledspinster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpledspinster/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concerned that Belle is bored with living in the Dark Castle, Rumplestiltskin chooses an activity she doesn’t seem to mind—laundry. But how many dirty clothes can the Dark One make?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Dark Castle AU fun. I haven't done one of these in a while, and I missed these two bickering and carrying on like an old married couple.
> 
> For Rumpledspinster's birthday. Happy Birthday, my sweet sister!
> 
> Thanks, as always, to MagnoliaTattoo, who brings clarity to my madness.

After hours of soaking, scrubbing, and ironing, all the laundry was finished.

Belle blew damp tendrils of hair off her forehead and shoved the clothing press into the work closet, then heaved a satisfied sigh. It was time to relax and indulge in a book from her new library. Balancing a steaming teacup and plate of cookies in one hand and a fat, leather-bound book in the other, she made her way to the great hall and her favorite chaise, her eyes glued to the pages.

Rumplestiltskin had chastised her about walking while reading, especially when her hands were full, but she was too transfixed to pay his instructions any mind. Her breath quickened with excitement—she’d just reached the part of the story where the bold, adventurous heroine was about to reveal her presence to the unsuspecting hero in disguise, and she simply couldn’t put the book down. Her foot caught, and Belle tripped, landing on her stomach in pile of something soft. Face-down in a familiar navy nightshirt, she looked around with a gasp of dismay. Her tea and cookies had spilled, the cup lay in shattered pieces on the stone floor, and the book that had so captivated her moments ago had flown into the fireplace, its onionskin pages now crackling and popping in the blaze.

So much for relaxing before supper.

Belle pushed up to her elbows with a groan, then twisted around to survey the mountain of fabric that had appeared around her. _Another pile of clothes?_

She chewed her lower lip and picked up one of Rumplestiltskin’s shirts. She brushed off the cookie crumbs, then rubbed the silky, saffron-toned fabric between thumb and forefinger. She should get up and straighten up this mess, but while she was down here on the floor... Her eyes darted around the room, making sure no one had entered the hall. Satisfied she was alone, she brought the garment to her nose and inhaled. The clean, tangy scent of Rumplestiltskin blended with the sweet pungency of magic, making her feel warm and a touch lightheaded.

Belle staggered to her feet like a drunkard, shaking the cobwebs from her mind and ignoring the nagging tingle in her lower belly. Hadn’t she _just_ pressed some of the items in this very pile? Her hands swam in front of her unfocused eyes, fingers still wrinkled and red from hours of scrubbing her master’s clothes against the washboard down at the stream.

She lifted her foot and lurched backward, almost sprawling into the pile of clothes once more. Belle gasped, finding a pair of Rumplestiltskin’s smallclothes wound around the ankle strap of her shoe.  Softer than a baby’s diaper, they were, spun from the most luxurious cloth she had ever felt against her skin. Not even the royal ladies of her acquaintance in Avonlea owned anything so fine. Heat flooded her cheeks; she was always careful not to touch Rumplestiltskin’s underthings too much. Whenever she did, her thoughts melted into unladylike fantasies about what he would look like without them. Imagining her master naked wasn’t on her list of duties, no matter how distracting his ensembles were.

He favored billowing poets’ shirts that exposed the sparkling green-gold skin of his chest. Bright, paisley-patterned vests accentuated his large, unusual amber eyes and his trim, sculpted torso. And those body-hugging leather pants were deliciously tight against his firm buttocks—no doubt her clever master used magic to wrestle those buttery leather trousers into place. Belle fanned her hot cheeks with the wide sleeve of a crimson shirt stained with some sort of electric purple goo.

Despite his beastly reputation, Rumplestiltskin was the picture of elegant grace and gentlemanly charm. To Belle, he was like a god—golden and glowing and, unfortunately, unaware of his effect on women. He was also one of the sloppiest people she had ever met.

Spilling food, dribbling tea, and dragging his sleeves through the potions he brewed were daily occurrences. With every mishap came a complete wardrobe change. And he teased _her_ for being clumsy? Belle smiled and shook her head. Some days, it seemed every time she turned around he was wearing a fresh ensemble and tossing soiled garments in her direction.

The Dark Castle could be a lonely place, but she was content here. She had her books and plenty of solitude in which to enjoy them, and she rather liked Rumplestiltskin. Belle’s cheeks heated again. Fine, she _really_ liked him. She only wished he would spend time with her, instead of ordering her to the stream to wash clothes every time she was within shouting distance. At least when she was in the great hall dusting, mopping the floors, or serving tea, she could be near him. He wove fascinating stories when he was in a good mood, and she could always tell when a deal had gone in his favor by the spring in his step and the off-key tune he hummed. When things hadn’t gone his way, however, he would stomp over to his spinning wheel to sulk in silence, then furiously transform straw into fat piles of shimmering gold long into the night.

Sometimes she encouraged him to confide in her, but all she received in reply was a glare and a snarled, caustic remark. “You should remember your place, little maid,” he would crow, “cleaning mine.”

On those days, he may as well have hung a sign around his neck that declared, “Stay away.”

With a longsuffering sigh, Belle fetched her laundry basket and the lavender soap Rumplestiltskin favored from the kitchen, then returned to the great hall to wrangle the enormous pile of clothes. She took a last, longing look at the remains of the book in the fireplace, now burned to crispy embers, then headed for the stream behind the estate.

xoxo

Rumplestiltskin looked down at his starched white shirt and shiny boots with a scowl; his outfit was far too clean and tidy after a full day of deal-making. _No, this would never do._ A snap of his fingers and his clothing was splattered with wet, sticky mud. He nodded at the mess in satisfaction and hollered for his maid. “Belle!” he bellowed. “Belle!”

She entered the foyer from the direction of the kitchen, balancing a tray filled with cakes, a steaming pot of tea, and two cups. Her pretty blue eyes widened in surprise as she took in his dirt-caked clothes. “Rumplestiltskin _what_ have you done to yourself?”

“You know how we monsters are.” He tittered and bent at the waist in a slight, ironic bow. “Always rolling about in the muck.”

Belle snorted and set down the tray on the large, round table in the center of the foyer. _“_ The only thing monstrous about you is the amount of laundry you produce.” She knelt at his feet to peel off his filthy boots, muttering to herself as she began unlacing, her small hands curving around his calves.

“Grumbling about our duties again, are we?” He raised an eyebrow to cover his discomfiture; he thought Belle _liked_ washing clothes. The gods knew she was a terrible housekeeper otherwise; hell, laundry was the only household activity she excelled at. His food was always burnt, dirty dishes overflowed the sink, and he could have written an entire curse across the dust-covered furniture. But his clothes were another matter. They were always soft, freshly pressed, and scented with lavender and crushed rose petals.

He liked that, and he thought she did, too.

Well, it was no matter. Whether Belle realized it or not, she needed to feel useful. “Need I remind you of your pledge to serve me forever?” he asked, arching a brow.

She frowned at him. “You don’t have to be so arrogant about it, I was simply saying…”

“…because I’ll need these clothes laundered as soon as possible.” He kicked the dirty boots to the side and they both watched the thick, grass-flecked mud ooze off the soles and onto the marble floor.

“I’ve just come from the creek with a load of fresh clothes,” she protested, hands flying to her shapely hips. She worried her lower lip, turning it a fetching shade of red that twisted his stomach into knots. “I could have sworn I washed them all this morning. And another huge bundle yesterday.”

“So now I’m a pig _and_ a liar.” He ignored the butterflies dancing in his stomach and crossed his arms over his dirt-splattered chest with a menacing frown.

She leveled him with an icy stare of her own, a look few beings had ever given the Dark One and lived. “Do not put words in my mouth, Rumplestiltskin.”

And with those parting words, she spun on her heel and stalked away, his muddy boots flapping against her hip and dirtying her pristine blue work dress.

“Don’t forget my coat,” he called, hiding his grin behind his hand. He flung the heavy garment toward her and she dropped the boots to catch it, the oversized black feathers around the collar slapping her lightly across the cheeks. She glared at him, her eyes dark with fury, and he grinned back. “I’ll send the rest of these filthy things outside after I’ve changed.”

He leaned against the table in the foyer and listened to her mutter to herself until she slammed the back door, then popped an apricot teacake into his mouth, swallowing it in one bite.

His Belle was spirited, with her heaving chest and snapping blue eyes, and vexing her proved an endless source of entertainment. Tomorrow, he decided, he would threaten to turn her into a snail. Would she glare at him some more? Stomp her tiny feet? Maybe stick her tongue out at him when she thought he wasn’t looking?

With a chuckle, Rumplestiltskin headed for his laboratory to change his clothes and continue his work, his thoughts pleasantly consumed with his maid.

xoxo

Belle lay in her bed wide awake, rubbing her chapped, red hands and listening to the maddening tick of the clock on the bedside table. She had tried reading by the light of the fire’s glow, but instead of imagining the scenes in the story, all she could see was an endless parade of dirty nightshirts, so stiff from filth they were walking themselves down to the stream to be washed. In her long hours of blinking up at the ceiling, she’d come to one, inevitable conclusion: either she was losing her mind—a distinct possibility here at the Dark One’s remote, mountaintop estate—or Rumplestiltskin was soiling all the clothes in the castle on purpose. After lying awake for hours, she drifted into a fitful, frustrated sleep.

When she woke, sweaty and tangled in the bedclothes from a nightmare about running out of laundry soap, the moon was still full and high in the sky. She threw back the covers and gathered her robe from the corner of the bed.

Something had to be done about all those dirty clothes.

Belle walked to the window and threw it open, peering unseeing into the blackness. An owl hooted and the treetops, and she could almost see the loathsome clothesline swaying in the breeze. Then the answer came to her on a gust of fresh, spring air. She would sew Rumplestiltskin an apron to keep his clothes clean!

Pleased with her solution, Belle tiptoed downstairs to the kitchens, gathered some empty flour sacks from the pantry floor, and took them back to her bedroom. Tongue between her teeth, she threaded the needle and began stitching the sacks together by the light of the fire. She tried to remember her childhood sewing lessons, but her samplers and projects always wound up as bookmarks, since she was far more interested in reading than stitching. Still, she did the best she could to tack together a respectable apron. When she was finished, Belle examined her work in the firelight and frowned. The rough fabric was a drab, mousy shade of brown. Ugly and misshapen, it resembled exactly none of the fine garments Rumplestiltskin owned. She straightened her shoulders and considered the apron again. It wasn’t _that_ bad, was it? Besides, it was a gift, and the best she could do.

She would keep it with her, and the next time Rumplestiltskin presented her with a mountain of dirty clothes, she would give it to him.

xoxo

Rumplestiltskin paused his work at the spinning wheel and gave his tea another noisy slurp, prompting no reaction from Belle. She was curled up on her favorite chaise, her nose shoved far too deep in a  book. Her refusal to acknowledge his presence vexed him; as the Dark One, he was accustomed to dramatic flourishes and magical appearances in poofs of colorful smoke. To be ignored by his maid frustrated him to no end.

“No more wash to do?” he asked peevishly. He pushed the treadle down hard and the wheel whirled too fast, causing it to squeak harshly in the quiet hall. Still, Belle didn’t notice.

“All done.” She glanced up from her book with distracted, unfocused eyes and shrugged. “I’m taking a break.”

This “break” of hers had lasted too long already; he couldn’t let her read all the bloody day. What if she discovered his weakness for her sweet smile and beautiful blue eyes and took unfair advantage? After all, he was still the Dark One, not some brainless, besotted fop who flocked to her father’s court before the Ogres War, begging to marry her.

He frowned and rubbed his fingers together, searching for a task to occupy her time. Cooking was out of the question—he wanted to keep what was left of his teeth. When she dusted, her nose became red as a cherry and she sneezed—five tiny, adorable sneezes in rapid succession for every shelf she cleaned. It was a terrible distraction. And it seemed plain cruel to force her to wash his enormous marble tub more than once a week.  But he had to ensure she had enough work to do, or else she might become bored and ask to go home to her father and fiancé, and then where would he be?

He’d already lost his son and selfish as it was, the thought of Belle leaving him alone in this dark, drafty mausoleum was more than he could bear. So then—more laundry it would be. Aye, his maid would do well to remember who was in charge around here.

To prove his point, he tossed the contents of his teacup across his chest, then watched the warm, brown rivulets roll down his leathers and patter to the floor.

“Oh! Look what I’ve done. This was my last clean lambskin vest, too,” he lamented, easing out the garment. “Clean it for me, would you?”

Belle bit back a cry of frustration. She’d been so happy sitting there reading while he spun, enjoying their companionable silence. Then he’d had to go and spill his tea and ruin everything.

“Wouldn’t you rather use magic on the clothes, like you do with so many other chores?” Belle asked hopefully, pretending not to see the soiled garment he dangled in front of her face. “I could brew more tea right away.”

“Never mind that, dear.” He patted her shoulder and laid the dirty vest carefully across her apron, and Belle noticed he took care not to touch her dress. “I’ll make the tea since I’m the one who spilled it.”

“Oh.” Belle forced a smile. “That’s, um, very gracious of you, Rumplestiltskin.”

“You just get those clothes soaking before they stain.” He waggled a finger in front of her face. “Tea stains are for carpets, not for clothing. Don’t forget to use that lavender saddle soap I like on my leathers.”

“But I…”

“You are a caretaker, aren’t you?” he sneered.

Belle stiffened. The man’s temperament shifted with the breeze.  “Well, yes.”

“Then take care of it.”

Oh, but he could get under her skin like no other person could! Belle tried in vain not to notice the graceful sway of his slender fingers or the gentle way he touched her shoulder, even as he snapped at her, baring his teeth. Instead, she focused all her energy on her indignation. Suddenly she remembered! This was her chance to give him the apron. “Rumplestiltskin, wait. I have something—”

“Never mind that now,” he said hastily, cutting her off.

“If you’ll just wait a moment!” She scrambled to pull out the apron she’d made.

He hissed, startling her, then snapped his fingers in her face.

Belle looked around. Once more she was outside next to the clotheslines, the birds in the trees around the yard chirping a merry tune, the stream babbling happily behind her.

“Oh, be quiet,” she groused.

The birds quieted, then flew away, leaving Belle alone in the yard with her laundry.

xoxo

Rumplestiltskin was torn. It was the most haphazard sewing job he had ever seen, the material coarse and cruel, a rough flour sack material he hadn’t exposed his skin to in over one hundred years. He paused his spinning and stroked the apron thoughtfully, trying to decide how to respond. Belle was beaming, her face bright and expectant.

“It’s so you can keep your clothes clean,” she explained, her dimples popping out.

His heart softened and he made a small, non-committal noise. The girl had tried. Besides, when was the last time anyone had given him anything except his due, let alone a present? Not since the long-ago winter evening when Baelfire had made him a cornhusk doll, urging him to cuddle it at night. “So you’re not lonely, Papa,” the boy had said. _Bae._ He thrust his loneliness far back into the recesses of his mind, feeding it to the darkness to feast upon.

Now Belle was looking at him with earnest, liquid eyes, waiting for him to comment, asking for acceptance. Helpless, he stared back, unable to find the words she was looking for.

“Do you hate me so very much then?” she asked at last. The light in her eyes dulled as she sank onto the chaise in defeat, twisting her fingers in her lap.

His head snapped up in surprise. “Hate you? What are you talking about, foolish girl? I let you live, didn’t I? For months you’ve been here, barely lifting a finger; eating fine meals, drinking excellent tea. I’ve even relocated you from the dungeon to the finest guest suite in my castle. It’s more than most employers would do!”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” She shook her head, tiny lines creasing her forehead. “You take care of me but you don’t care _about_ me. There’s a difference.”

“How so?” Confused but defensive, he folded his arms across his chest.

“You’re always sending me into the yard to wash clothes,” she said in a small voice.

“So you’re complaining about hard work?” He sighed. “Must I explain the definition of a job, again, dear?”

She winced at his condescending tone. “It’s not about the work. Anytime we have an idle moment to sit together and talk, you push me away. I don’t think there was so much laundry done on the entire estate back in Avonlea, and there were dozens of people living there! You’re doing it on purpose so you don’t have to share yourself with me, and what’s worse is you think I’m so stupid I wouldn’t know it.” She frowned. “I suppose it was too much to hope that we might…get to know each other.”

His heart thudded against his ribs. He _was_ keeping her at arm’s length, but only so she wouldn’t discover the full extent of his beastliness and decide to leave. “I see.” He relented, dropping his guarded expression. “What do you propose?”

Belle squinted, as if trying to read his thoughts, then smiled. “I’m not sure. Perhaps we could just talk and see what happens, Rumple? Do you mind if I call you Rumple?”

“Talk?” He stiffened. What could she possibly want to discuss? Did she need something? Magic, a potion, a spell?  Did she want to return to her true home? A deal was a deal, but if she asked his permission to leave and go back to that idiot Gaston and her life as a noblewoman, he knew he would say yes.

He’d have given her anything her heart desired.

“Yes, talk.” Her wry tone pulled him out of his dark thoughts. “It’s a civilized form of communication,” she continued, her eyes sparkling with merriment. “First you say something, then I respond to what you’ve said…”

“I know how talking works, girl,” he muttered in the most cantankerous voice he could muster.

“Wonderful!” She pulled her chaise closer to the fire and patted the empty cushion beside her.

He dragged his feet in her direction, uncertain how he had landed in this mess, but also intrigued. Nobody spoke to him unless they wanted something. All his conversations revolved around deals and transactions, but this sweet, kind young woman wanted to know him. Chased away by her smile, the darkness cowered and hid, allowing a glimmer of the man he once was to shine through.

“Do you enjoy books, Rumple?” she asked as he crossed and uncrossed his legs, trying to make himself comfortable beside her on the small couch.

“Books?” he echoed stupidly, losing himself in her clear blue eyes. He shook his head to clear it. By the gods, she would think him lacking in the most rudimentary conversation skills.

“Yes.” She patted the thick tome in her lap. “I’m reading a collection of poems at the moment. Perhaps you might wish to hear a bit aloud?”

“If you wish,” he agreed, settling against the back of the couch to listen while she paged through the book looking for a place to begin.

She read two poems, but she stumbled over the words, her tone stilted and uncertain. Rumplestiltskin tensed; something was still troubling her. She fidgeted as she read, wiping her hands on her apron and struggling to turn the pages.

Halfway through the third poem, he stopped her, laying a hand on her wrist. “Speak your mind, Belle.”

“What?” Her eyes widened and she set the book down on the couch between them.

“Something is bothering you.” He sighed. May as well find out, or he wouldn’t know a moment’s peace for the rest of the evening.

She pursed her lips and he read indecision in her expression. Then she spoke. “You don’t like your apron, do you?”

Damn it. He’d walked right into that. “I don’t dislike it,” he hedged with a sniff.

She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, evidently unimpressed with his double-speak. “Someone gives you a gift and this is how you behave?”

“It’s not a gift for me if it’s only helping you,” he pointed out churlishly.

“Now you’re just being difficult.”

“You’re the one making both our lives harder since you’ll still have to wash clothes. I’ve no intention of wearing that _thing_ out in public. It’s too long, and that crude fabric doesn’t match anything. I have a reputation to uphold!”

She’d baited him into insulting the silly thing, damn her. He was practically shouting now, the vein in his neck beginning to throb.

She tossed her head. “The fashion-conscious Dark One?”

“What is this foolishness really about?” he snapped, waving a hand. “You wish to return to your people?”

“Why can’t you give me something else to do?” she countered, ignoring his question. “An errand in town? Some shelves to dust? A bathtub to scrub? No man—even a pig-headed, impossible sorcerer—can possibly make this much laundry!”

“You said you liked to wash clothes!” He stood, then snapped his fingers, willing the box of laundry soap appeared. He shoved it at her.

“Well, I don’t!” She refused the box with a shake of her head, pushing it back at him. “My hands are red and chapped, and my arms ache from scrubbing. There’s not a more loathsome task than laundry in all the realms!”

He gritted his teeth. “But you said you liked it. I’m quite sure I remember.”

“I was being polite!” She drew herself up to her full height, all of 60 inches of her, and puffed out her chest. “And if you want your dragonhide coat brushed again, _master,_ you’re going to do it yourself. I’m going to the library to find a new book and then I’m going to bake your bread to a blackened crisp!”

“How would that differ from any other day?” he asked sarcastically, waving the box of soap for emphasis.

She seized the box, wrenching it out of his surprised grasp, and hurled it at his chest. The contents exploded, the air in the great hall turning white as a snowstorm. Flakes of soap flew everywhere, settling on every surface. They both looked around; the mantel, the table, the shelves full of artifacts and trinkets, even the spinning wheel were coated with soap, and the clean, sweet scents of lavender and roses perfumed the air.

Rumplestiltskin choked on the soap dust, then tried to brush it off his clothing, but it was too thick. He glowered down at the mess, then looked at her and barked a laugh. She was completely covered in soap, as well, her hair and clothing as white as snow.

“Strip!” Belle ordered.

His laughter died on his tongue.

“I beg your pardon?” Uncertain, he took a step back, suddenly feeling like a sheep being led to the slaughter.

“You heard me.” Her breath was heavy, the skin of her neck and chest flushed scarlet beneath the flakes of soap, but her eyes were as sharp and clear as steel. “You like to wash clothes? Fine! Let’s wash some. Take everything off.”

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This deleted scene from Vicky Jona gave me all the feels and I had to write this: https://vickyjona.tumblr.com/post/147093446906/rumbelle-laundry-scene-deleted-scene-precious
> 
> Comments are welcome and appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their argument about laundry, Belle demands Rumplestiltskin strip off all his clothes. He complies. Smut ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the June AMR: Smut: Dark Castle, first time, fluff
> 
> I didn’t see a scene where Belle’s memories were wiped in 3x22, so this little callback conversation is fair game.

Covered in soap flakes, Rumplestiltskin tore at the buttons on his vest, his golden eyes crackling with fury.

There was a challenge in the rigid set of his jaw, and Belle swallowed past the lump in her throat. She’d commanded him to strip, and he was obeying. His vest dropped to the stone floor of the great hall along with another shower of laundry soap, and she bit back a hysterical giggle at his severe expression. He looked both terrifying and comical grimacing with his entire body covered in soap. His hair was coated in the stuff, and even his eyebrows were white as a blanket of freshly fallen snow.

What had she gotten herself into?

Gumption deserted her; every muscle and bone wanting to flee the scene, to rescind her demand and lock herself in her bedroom with a pile of books, but she had to hold her ground. She had issued a challenge; now she had to act as though she knew what she was about. _Do the brave thing_ , she reminded herself. It was what Mother always used to say when Belle needed to find her nerve, but she wasn’t sure Mother’s advice extended to demanding an all-powerful magical being strip off his clothes.

His vest gone, Rumplestiltskin started on the buttons of his shirt, shaking more soap to the floor. Soap she would later have to sweep up and pick out of the cracks between the stones.

“You’re making an even bigger mess,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and trying to hide the nervous quaver in her voice. “You’re coming with me to the stream to get cleaned up. Let’s go.”

Head held high, Belle charged through the hall and out the kitchen doors toward the little stream on the Dark Castle’s grounds where she did the wash every day.

Mute, Rumplestiltskin marched behind her. Anger was thick in the air, along with a raw, delicious tension which stole the breath from Belle’s lungs and made her loose, serviceable work dress feel hot and constricting. When she turned to face him on the bank of the water, he had removed his billowing silk shirt. It sailed over her head into the water. His leather pants and boots, also coated in soap, still clung to his legs like a second skin, the outline of his lean thighs in the buttery leather making her pulse skitter.

He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow as if daring her to make a comment.

His impudence made her bold and she found her tongue again. “I said strip. That means everything.”

“You could ask nicely,” he said, putting a mocking hand to his bare throat.

“I could also turn you into a toad!” She chortled, trying to mimic his shrill pageantry.

His face contorted with outrage. “I never threatened you with anything of the sort!”

She snorted. “You did too! Last month when we had visitors. A beautiful blonde woman and a dark-haired man wearing leather and displaying a distasteful amount of chest hair and black eye makeup. He had a _hook_ for a hand, and that’s not something anyone is likely to forget. And the woman—” Belle harrumphed in triumph as she remembered— “was looking for her parents!”

“You’re mad! No such conversation took place. I haven’t seen the reprobate you’re describing since...” He trailed off and pressed his lips together, the way he did when Belle knew he didn’t want to divulge anything. “You probably imagined the entire affair or read it in one of your foolish novels. You read too many books!”

“This is not about me, so don’t change the subject.” She stomped her foot and pointed at his leather breeches. “Keep taking off your clothes. All of them.”

“You’re going to regret this, dearie,” he said through gritted teeth.

Belle tossed her head, sending flakes of soap into the air to settle on the grass. “Some threat.”

Rumplestiltskin had lost his touch. In vain, he tried to call upon his magic, but the darkness that rule his power thrived on anger and hate. All he felt at the moment was a bizarre, insane attraction to this petite fireball, her cheeks rosy and her soap-coated curls a tumbling white mess around her shoulders. She was gnawing on her lower lip like she’d missed supper, her brow furrowed in concentration.

She looked gorgeous and adorable, and he loathed himself for noticing.

Her eyes darted toward the ground for a moment, and he tried to transport himself to his tower while she was distracted. Wouldn’t the bossy little minx be surprised when he... _Drat_. Another failed attempt. He rubbed his fingers together, hoping to conjure a fireball to frighten her into leaving him alone. A spark lit then fizzled on his fingertips. Dammit, he felt like an imbecile. His little maid had him so unnerved that getting his magic to work was impossible.

Panic crowded in, and he fiddled with the laces of his leather trousers while he searched for a way out of this predicament, some loophole to turn the situation to his advantage. He scanned the clearing behind the little general, noticing a hedge of tall shrubbery. Hiding behind the thick row of bushes was an option, but he was the Dark One and cowered before no one. Certainly not for this impudent slip of a girl.

Through the film of soap coating her skin, there were two bright red spots on her cheeks. She seemed perturbed, and it lifted his spirits. Annoying his Belle was a wonderful source of amusement.

He startled at the thought. When had he begun to think of her as _his?_ Not his as in something to possess, like the treasures he collected and hoarded in his deals, and not as a servant who was sworn to serve him. Belle was someone who could share his life, a bright, beautiful light who brought meaning to his dark world.

The only person since Baelfire who could bear to be around him.

Yet he couldn’t escape the nagging reminder that she was here against her wishes. Making her stay was easy; making her want to stay was a different matter. He had to compromise, and dammit, he hated the idea of bending to anyone’s will, even if complying would make him happy as well.

He hedged, his hands still hovering at the laces on his trousers.

Belle eyed the bulge in his leathers and licked her lips, the appearance of her little pink tongue making his cock twitch. “If you’re worried I’m going to laugh at you, it will never happen,” she said.

“Laugh at the Dark One?” He twirled his hands in the air. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She shook her head and took a step closer, giving him the strange sensation he had missed the point. “I want to be close to you. To know you.” She swallowed hard, her throat working. “Would that be so terrible?”

Stubbornness made him snort. He’d demanded that she live a solitary existence of servitude as a ransom for saving her little village. She wanted to know him because there was no one else to know. Plain and simple.

Still, she persisted, edging toward him even more and kicking off her silver slippers, her bare toes sinking into the fluffy, cool grass. “Please?”

The please was his undoing.  

He set his hands to the laces with purpose, fingers flying, and before he was aware of his irrevocable decision, his breeches and boots were laying in the grass. No going halfway, he supposed, so he threw his shoulders back, standing before her in all his nude glory. Throat tight with fear, he laced his fingers behind his back, his claws digging into his palms while he waited for her reaction. Gods, she could crush him with a word.

“Is this what you wanted to see?” he demanded.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Oh, yes.”

This response was not what he expected. Averted eyes. A mouth dropped open in disgusted shock. Turning away from his ugliness. Any of these would have been typical, normal responses. 

But Belle didn’t do any of those things. 

Her hands were splayed over her chest, and beneath the white powder coating her skin, he could see her little breasts heaving as she fought for breath. Before his eyes, her nipples hardened into tight peaks, standing out against the fabric of her dress. Eyes dark blue with desire roamed over him, settling on his cock. He hardened, and her mouth formed a soft ‘o’ of surprise as she watched him thicken.

If he had conjured every fantasy in his dark, lonely life, none could compare to the reality of beautiful, good, wonderful Belle looking at him with undisguised admiration and desire.

She wanted him.

His body was more magnificent than Belle had imagined, golden and glowing and lean with wiry muscle. He had very little hair, except for the soft brown thatch above his cock. Thick and long, it jutted from his body and sparkled in the sunlight like the rest of his skin. Belle trembled and twisted her fingers in her soap-covered skirts, heat pooling in her own belly. She wanted to touch him, but she was rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do next.

“Now that you have me naked, what are you going to do, little maid?” His tone was soft, intimate, but carried a hint of steel that sent shivers down her spine. He was at her mercy. Or was she at his?

She chewed her lower lip in indecision, then gestured at the stream behind him. “Get into the water.”

“Why?” he frowned.

“So I can rinse the soap off your body.”

She watched him wade into the water, her throat going dry at his tight buttocks. He had hardened even more, his cock now brushing his belly. Belle moved as if in a dream, first slipping out of her dress and unbuttoning her shirtwaist, then sitting down on the grass to roll down her stockings. Those strange, breathtaking amber eyes of his followed the motions of her hands as she undressed. They were wide and almost bright yellow in their intensity, belying the unyielding stiffness of the rest of his body. Quickly, she discarded her clothes onto the bank of the stream until she wore nothing but her gossamer-thin chemise.

Rumplestiltskin stood in the middle of the stream, thigh deep in the clear water, his hands bunched at his sides, tall and aloof. Though he had conceded to her every request so far, he wasn’t going to make it easy, and she wondered why he didn’t use magic to cover his arousal.

Casting around for how to approach him, she grasped a soft, clean cloth from the wash bucket and dipped it in the water, then wrung it out over his body, causing bubbly rivulets to run down his bare chest. She wouldn’t do anything unless he was willing, not even touch him with the cloth.

“May I?” she asked, hovering a handbreadth from his chest.

The jerk of his chin was cold, but it was a sign of assent.

Using the cloth, she began to pat and rub his body, washing the filmy, sticky soap away. His skin was soft and smooth with the slightest rough texture, warm even through the fabric in her hand. She washed all the soap off his skin and out of his hair, her breath coming quick and shallow as she touched him.

He was not a large man, but Belle had never cared for the bulky muscles and large frames of men like Gaston. Rumplestiltskin was lean and wiry, his muscles small but hard, his motions elegant and graceful. He moved like no one she had ever seen before. The place between her thighs grew damp with more than water and her skin crackled with desire. She looked down at her nipples, swollen beneath the chemise, and his gaze followed hers, those strange, reptilian eyes missing nothing. They blazed with passion, looking almost human, and beneath the thick layers of skin and clothing he wore as armor, she could see the man within, the _real_ Rumplestiltskin. The one she wanted.

She eased toward him, her breath brushing his chest, coming close enough to lick a flat nipple. The taste of his skin was spicy and dark, and a hint of the cloying sweetness of magic clung to him. He yelped and sprang back at the contact, splashing her with water.

Crestfallen, she searched his face. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“No. I’m sorry. I was surprised.” His voice was low and gravely, no evidence of his usual trills and pageantry. “Please continue. If you like.”

Belle began to explore his torso, tracing his ribs with her fingers, her hot moist tongue turning the beads of water on his chest into paths of liquid fire. He couldn’t get enough air, his lungs demanding great gulps of oxygen. It was difficult to keep his hands still, but he didn’t want to frighten her, and he clenched his fists against his thighs to keep from dragging her against him, ripping the flimsy chemise, and pounding into her like an animal.  

He had no business defiling an innocent this way, dark and ugly as he was, and he burned with shame at his weakness. But he could see the outline of her petite, lithe body through the soaked cotton undergarment. His greedy eyes feasted on her dusky nipples and the patch of brown curls above her mound. She mouthed his neck and moaned his name and gods, beneath the power he was only a man.  
  
Her warm, wet hands moved down his body, one hand still gripping the soft washcloth, and she pressed her breasts against his chest. She mapped his skin with her lips, drawing his tight nipples into her hot mouth and suckling. The water was cool against his fevered skin but her tongue scorched him, the combination making him shudder.

She abandoned the washcloth, dropping it into the water, and outlined his balls with one curious finger. He groaned as she fondled him and he closed his eyes. When she cupped and lightly squeezed he couldn’t hold back his moans of enjoyment. Her other hand touched his length and his eyes flew open again. A bead of arousal leaked from his tip, and she swiped at it, gathering the moisture on her finger and examining it, then sucked the digit into her mouth.

He bit back a sob. “Gods, Belle, what are you doing to me?”

She hummed in response and began to stroke his cock from root to tip, stopping every so often to trace the thick vein on the underside with her nails. Her touch was gentle and uncertain, yet nothing had ever felt so exquisite.

“Like this?” she breathed, her thumb rubbing the fleshy head until he thought he would scream. Belle’s lips were parted, her pupils wide and dark, swallowing the irises.

“Yes, _gods_ , yes.” He threw back his head and gave himself over to it. The feel of her small, wet hands, the sunlight beating warm and steady on his back, the tightening of his body as he reveled in the pleasure of being caressed and cared for and held. Through heavy eyes, he watched her stroke him, his body tightening, threatening to explode.

How long had it been since any hand other than his own had offered him any pleasure? After only a few moments of Belle’s shy, virginal touches, he was on the brink of coming. He didn’t know if he could stop himself if she continued, and he didn’t know how he could bring himself to ask her to stop. Never had he wanted any woman as he wanted Belle. It didn’t seem possible that he’d come even this far.

He gasped, fighting for control over himself, trying to make the pleasure of her touch last. But it wasn’t enough. He needed to give her pleasure in return. The gods knew when he would have such a gift again, so he bent his knees, bracing himself on the sandy floor of the stream, then pushed a thigh between hers.

Belle felt a surge of power as she worked Rumplestiltskin’s cock, her breasts crushed against him as she panted with her own desire. She returned to caressing his beautiful sac, the skin soft and thin as paper, loving the way the cords of his neck grew taut and his eyes rolled back in his head when she bounced and massaged the tender flesh. Nothing she’d read in one thousand books could have prepared her for the way pleasuring him made her feel. She held this splendid, powerful man in her hands, and he was writhing and whimpering beneath her touch, his belly rippling. Gaining confidence with every stroke, she wrapped both hands around him and pumped harder and faster, reveling in his gasps and the thrust of his hips, eager to see him come apart.

He thrust a hard, lean thigh between her legs and she cried out at the sudden rush of heat and pleasure. She parted her legs and began to ride his leg, sliding up higher along his thigh while she stroked his cock. She moaned and ground down against his thigh, pressure building in her core as she chased her own orgasm. Her fingers slid up his shaft, finding the sensitive tip, and she rolled his head between her thumb and forefinger in time with the circling of her hips.

Rumple was gasping for breath, moans almost like sobs erupting from his throat, and the wetness between her thighs dripped down his leg. A bead of moisture dripped from his lips and landed on hers. She licked it away, eyes never leaving his, and he growled, his eyes wide and feral.

“Come, Rumplestiltskin, come for me.” She whimpered in his ear, grinding harder and faster against him. She was long past the point of caring how desperate she sounded.

Between Belle rubbing herself against his leg and the ecstasy of her hands on his cock, he was close to bursting with the need for release. And then her sweet voice, urging him to come... _oh gods._ His climax stole over him, driving him over the edge, his hands shooting out to grip her hips and press as much of her against him as he could reach. He came hard, his cries echoing in the tall trees as hot, intense waves of bliss rolled through him, his seed spurting from his body and swirling into the soapy water.

When she had wrung him dry, he sagged against her, sighing as her arms wound around him to help keep him upright. He eased back while his breath was still harsh, slipping his thigh from between her legs and searching her face for signs of regret. But no, her pupils were blown wide and dark with passion and she licked her lips again.

“What do you want, Belle?” His gaze was hot, intense as it roved over her flushed skin. She wanted to scream with frustration at the loss of pressure between her legs. Every inch of her body thrummed with need, begging for something, _anything_ to relieve the burning ache, throbbing and pulsing since even before she’d begun to stroke him.

“I don’t know,” she lied. She looked down at the rippling surface of the water, suddenly shy. The dazed passion in his expression began to burn out, and she cursed her too-quick tongue as he started to pull away. “No!” she cried out, clutching at him, desperate for him to stay. “You…I just want you.”

“Turn around,” he said, circling a finger in the warm afternoon air.

“Why?” she asked, not frightened, but curious.

The hint of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. “So I can rinse your hair. You’re covered in soap, my dear.”

He grasped her shoulders and turned her around. The bones of her back were delicate, the slope of her shoulders slight yet proud. She was so petite and fine, and he kept his touch gentle as he bent her backward into the water over his arm, submerging her hair in the water. Humming, he worked his fingers through her long, tangled curls until all the soap was gone, then carefully splashed water on her upturned face, chasing all the remnants of soap off her skin. Her little murmurs of approval made him smile. She was so easy to please, this odd girl.

She opened tear-filled eyes, and he realized she was trembling in his arms. Was he hurting her? He froze, his body going rigid.

“Touch me?” she asked, her voice quavering.

_Oh, thank the gods._

He lifted an eyebrow and tapped her shoulder, pretending to misunderstand her request. “I am touching you.”

She squirmed and thrashed in the water, shunting her hips toward the sky. “Rumple, please.”

He chuckled at the neediness in her voice, secretly thrilled she desired him so much. “As you wish.”

He lifted her out of the water, still facing away from him, and drew her buttocks into the cradle of his thighs. He gathered her short chemise in one hand, bunching the soaked fabric around her waist. In seconds he was losing himself again, moaning at the soft tightness of her arse against his half-hard cock.  
  
Gritting his teeth, he remembered his purpose: giving Belle pleasure. He drew her hair aside over one shoulder and kissed his way down the back of her neck, angling toward her collarbone. Her skin was warm and still fragrant from the lavender and rose soap and his cock stirred, hardening against her plump, perfect arse.

“Oh!” she said. “You’re…”

He chuckled at the surprise in her voice. “There are many perks to being the Dark One.”

“Stamina being one of them?” she asked breathlessly.

“Indeed.”

Belle felt the rumble of his laughter across her shoulder blades and Rumplestiltskin drew her head back to rest against his shoulder. His fingers framed the base of her throat, exposing her jugular, but she wasn’t afraid. He bent his head forward to suck on her neck, biting and scraping her skin with his teeth. _Good._ She wanted the tender claim of his mark on her body. She squirmed and lifted herself, trying to press closer to his mouth and hands, until at last, he slid his fingers down her stomach to cup her aching mound. She moaned, needing to be filled.

_“Yes.”_ She thrust her hips backward, begging him to slip his long, talented fingers inside her body. She’d seen the way he worked a spinning wheel and prepared spells and the imagery made her shudder, the place between her thighs slick and hot. At night in her bed, she had touched herself and enjoyed the flutters of pleasure in her belly, but she had never felt this driving, consuming need to be taken. Not until she met Rumplestiltskin.

The first brush of his fingertips against her slit made her cry out. She was soaked with arousal and sensitive from rubbing against his thigh. He thrust his fingers inside her, first two and then adding a third, moving slowly in and out. His other hand plucked and rolled her nipples through the soaked fabric of her chemise.

She whimpered and pleaded as he moved in and out of her channel, grabbing his wrist with both hands to keep him there and grinding her hips against his palm. The hand toying with her breasts trailed downward too, his thumb making circles on her clit while his fingers continued to push in and out in quick, rhythmic strokes. He curled his fingers inside her, pressing his knuckles against her clit. Wailing, she began to ride his hands, her nails digging into his wrists to give her leverage. Her release crashed through her and she convulsed around his fingers with a scream, stars bursting behind her eyes in a thousand pinpricks of white lights.

He held her close against his chest while she recovered, the thud of his heart against her back calming her and making her drowsy. While he stroked her hair, he whispered endearments in her ear, ragged words about her beauty, how much he loved touching her, how precious she was.

Rumplestiltskin half-dragged, half-carried Belle to the bank of the shallow stream, spreading a blanket on the grass with magic so he could lay her down. She looked up at him with thunderstruck eyes, and his chest puffed with pride. He had given her pleasure and she was boneless in his hands. But he wasn’t done yet. He knelt between her thighs, kissing the insides of each one, licking the creases. Her swollen folds glistened in the sunlight and he licked his lips, eager to taste her. He framed her hips with his hands and lifted her to his mouth. Fragrances of honeysuckle, musk, and lavender filled his nostrils. Gods, the smell of her alone was delicious.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding dazed as he dipped his head between her thighs.

He looked up at her with a wicked grin. “Helping you get cleaned up, my little maid.”

It wasn’t long before she was tugging on his hair and crying out, writhing against his mouth as she begged him to continue. She came hard with another glorious scream, her thighs squeezing the sides of his head, and he growled as he savored every drop, moaning between her legs. He was relentless, licking and sucking her clit through the aftershocks, not stopping until her hips collapsed on the blanket and she pushed his head away with weak hands.

He was hard and straining again, aching to come, and he climbed up her body to thrust against her belly while he suckled her neck, leaving love bites in the way of his mouth. She welcomed him, arms coming around his back to soothe and encourage him, her breath hot in his ear. Their bodies clung to each other, sticky with sweat, and her hands trailed down his back to squeeze his buttocks. She urged him on, pressing her against him and rolling her hips until he came with a primal cry, jerking against her belly until he was spent.

They switched positions; he rolled on to his back, and Belle followed, pillowing her head on his chest. Legs entwined, they lay staring at the expanse of blue sky, listening to the leaves rustle in the breeze and watching the birds glide between the trees.

Belle lifted her head from his chest and her heart caught. Rumple’s eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even, and a soft brown curl covered one eyelid. He looked like an innocent young boy, and she reached up to brush the hair back from his forehead, then settled against his chest to watch him sleep.

“You’re digging your pointy little chin into my ribs,” he complained.

“Sorry.” She giggled and moved, laying her cheek against his heart. “Rumple, that was incredible. Thank you. I can’t wait to do it all again.”

He made a strangled sound in his throat, and she laughed again.

“Do you still think I want to leave the Dark Castle?” she asked. “Leave you?”

He stroked her hair and sighed, sounding both ancient and exhausted. “If you did, I wouldn’t stop you.”

“I..I didn’t mean to make you cross, I’m sorry. Your comments about my duty being to do your laundry made me angry, but you’re right. Caring for the castle is my responsibility and I haven’t done a very good job.” She bit down on her lower lip, fighting tears. Rumplestiltskin was the last person in the world she wanted to disappoint.

“I suppose I could endeavor to have fewer accidents,” he offered. “And give you more free time to read and play. I didn’t want you to grow tired of working here. I thought if I kept you too busy to think straight you might forget you’d shackled yourself to me and this drafty old castle for eternity.”

“It was an eternity of my choosing,” she reminded him.

“Nonetheless. I don’t wish to see you unhappy.”

Belle leaned away from him to prop her chin on her hand. He really did care about her happiness. Her gaze found his, his warm amber eyes somber but glowing with a secret Belle could not decipher.

“And do you still think you need to keep me occupied with laundry?”

“No. It was...I didn't want to lose you,” he confessed. “And I really do remember you saying you enjoyed the task.”

“Perhaps at the same time you _remembered_ me saying I wished to return to Avonlea.”

He huffed.

Belle smiled against his chest. They’d been at cross purposes. He was looking to give her reasons to stay while she was longing to feel wanted and appreciated. “I have an idea. From now on, why don’t we do the laundry together?”

He kissed the top of her head. “From the moment we met, I knew you were a clever girl.”

“May I ask you one more question?” she ventured through a smile.

In answer, he turned his head away and feigned an obnoxious snore. She sat up and smacked his chest.

“Ow! Go ahead and ask. I won’t get any rest until you’re done prattling.” He crossed his arms over his chest, pretending to be annoyed.

“When we were together just now, why didn’t you come inside me?”

“Clever, yet naive.” He clucked his tongue. “Because someday your prince may come to sweep you off your feet, little one. “It wouldn’t do for the beautiful maiden to be defiled by the Beast.”

His tone was thick with theatrics, and Belle knew he was trying to hide from her again, but she wouldn’t allow it.

She scowled in his face. “I don’t want some boring, stuffy old prince, Rumplestiltskin. I want you. I...love you.”

“Clever, naive, and strange,” he said, shaking his head. But the smile twisting the corners of his mouth and the blush staining his cheeks told her he was pleased with her declaration.

“I am all those things,” she agreed, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. “And bossy too. Don’t you forget it.”

"Impossible woman." He drew her down beneath him once more, bearing her down on the blanket, then kissed her—his lips warm and sweet against cheeks, her chin, her nose, even her eyelids. For a long heartbeat, he looked at her mouth, then reached out to brush her lips with his fingers and buried his face in her neck.

“Someday,” he said, the word a soft, longing whisper. “Someday.”

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got around to this. Hope it was worth the wait!


End file.
